The ocean breeze breaks gently on my face.

A sudden sweep of springtime warmth is melting everything. The sea has unthawed, transforming into a vast, sparkling blue plain stretching out endlessly before me. Soft white sand pillows my feet, and seabirds call out overhead.

The beach is beautiful, but I only have eyes for Rose.

Her loose brown curls are down today, the wind rippling gently through them. Her hand is up by her face, but only so she can rest her chin on her palm. She’s stopped trying to hide the scar from me.

She’s been watching Charlie play around in the shallows, but now she glances down at me. I’m stretched out on my side next to her, one elbow propped up on the blanket.

I don’t look away when Rose’s eyes meet mine. I smile warmly, imbue it with all the very real affection I have for her. Her cheeks turn pink - she blushes very easily, I’ve noticed - and she hastily turns her eyes back to Charlie. Her fingers drop to fidget nervously with the hem of her dress.

I reach over and start fidgeting with it, too. Rose giggles, swats my hand away, and then gasps when I pretend I’m going to take a bite of the fabric.

“Stop it!” she laughs, the breeze sending her curls dancing against her face.

For the millionth time, I stare at her, thinking: how do I define you?

I know that Rose is an opposition agent. She must be, if she’s been interfering with our own operational activities. Still, I feel… like she isn’t. Even knowing what I know, I can’t convince myself otherwise.

Rose doesn’t come off like an agent, not to me. She comes off like a sweet, compassionate, intelligent woman who wouldn’t hurt a fly. A woman with secrets, yes. But I sense that those secrets are her own, that they don’t belong to a country or agency.

I have this persistent, nagging feeling that I know the real Rose. She was in hiding when we first met. She revealed herself to me very slowly and gradually, over the course of the time we’ve spent together.

Rose promised to show me what Port Sitka has to offer, and she’s done just that. I’ve actually grown to like the place much more than I thought I would. The little white buildings, the wooden boardwalk, the wildflowers, the coral rocks, the salty air. We’ve had picnics on top of the bluffs that overlook the ocean. We’ve bicycled down the country roads that lay on the non-coastal side of town.

We’ve walked together for hours, even on the grey, drizzly days. Talking and talking. Taking turns carrying Charlie or holding his hand. There are stunning forests surrounding the town, and we explore them together.

I lose track of time when I’m with Rose. Something a field agent doesn’t often do.

The more time I spend with her, the more I see the slow breakdown of the tightly-wound, straight-backed, quiet, controlled version of Rose I first met. I see the blossoming of the true Rose.

At first she would only let out a scandalized gasp at my jokes. She still does that now, but it’s usually followed by laughter. I felt that she was constantly fighting back things she wanted to say to me, so I paid close attention to the language of her voice and body. Now I know a few ways to get her to open up.

When we don’t have Charlie with us, I convince Rose to walk barefoot, to run for no reason, to buy that pastry she wants, to wear clothes that have been sitting in the back of her closet for ages. Some with the tags still attached, which tells me she never once dared to wear them.

Maybe the biggest change in Rose is her laughter, which is coming more freely and brightly and beautifully every day.

Rose isn’t the only one opening up. I keep forgetting what I’m doing here. I’m being myself around Rose, like I’m not on the job at all. I was ordered to befriend her, but it’s turned out to be remarkably easy. Like we were meant to be friends, all along.

I’m happy when I'm around her. Immensely enjoying her company, her laughter, the way she smiles at me through her green eyes.

Or at least - I’m happy until I’m alone again. As soon as I leave her, I remember who and what I am, and the guilt starts to reassert its grasp.

“Molly,” Rose says quietly.

Leyla, I desperately want to answer. Molly is a cover name. I’m Leyla.

“What, darling?”

“Have you thought more about whether or not you’re going to stay here? In Port Sitka?”

Rose steals a glance at me as she speaks. Her breathtaking eyes are so hopeful. They send a stab of pain through my heart. I’ve been trying so hard not to think about how this all will end. I know that I’ll be assigned to a new job, leave Port Sitka.

I have no idea what will happen to Rose.

“I’m... not sure yet,” I answer haltingly. “It’s a big decision, so-”

I cut myself off as Rose suddenly throws herself across my lap. I sit up sharply, snapping back into agent mode, prepared to defend myself.

“No, okay?” Rose pins my thighs down with her body, then twists to look up at me, a determined expression on her face. “You can’t leave. You have to stay, Mol. I’ve decided. I just won’t let you go.”

I let out a startled laugh, caught completely off guard. This is something that Rose would never have said or done when I first met her.

I feel a blush rise in my cheeks. Rose is bent facedown across my lap, her loose dress twisted tight around her body.

“Foolishness and nonsense,” I tell her, to a bright burst of giggles.

She told me once that she doesn’t usually have time for these things, and I had to laugh at her phrasing. It’s become a joke between us. That foolishness and nonsense are all we get up to together.

Rose turns over, so that the heels of her feet and the back of her head are in the sand. But she’s still stretched out on top of me, laying across my lap.

“Really,” she says, growing serious. “How do I get you to stay? Tell me what to do, and I'll do it.”

Something in Rose’s voice hits every weak point in my defenses. Especially paired with her heart-stopping green eyes staring up at me.

“What if you come with me?” I blurt out, without thinking about it. “What if we went somewhere together? Someplace...”

Someplace where no one knows who we are, and no one would come after us.

I fall silent, the sentence left unfinished. I’m shocked at myself, in blank disbelief that the thought even crossed my mind.

Rose’s smile fades away. She sits up and gets off of my lap, tucking one of her windblown curls behind her ear.

“I can’t.” All of a sudden she looks pained, her eyes avoiding mine. “I’d go with you anywhere, Mol, but I can’t leave. It’s - complicated.”

Of course Rose can’t leave. She’s an agent, on assignment. Just like I am. We’re working against each other. I’m gathering intelligence on her, because she’s working for the other side.

I don’t know why I keep forgetting that.

There’s a heavy silence. I get the sense that Rose wants to say something - her eyes keep darting to me and then away again - but she bites it back.

Only then do I realize what she said. I’d go with you anywhere.

I look over at Rose and open my mouth, not knowing what I’m going to say. I have only the wild, pulse-racing feeling that I’m about to say something dangerous, something huge.

Charlie rescues me from myself by scrambling up the beach to show us a shell he found in the water. Whatever it was I was going to say blows away on the oceanic wind, carried out to sea.

~~~~

I sit bolt upright in bed, snapped out of my sleep. Blinking through the darkness, my heart hammering, my hair spilling down my shoulders.

Someone is knocking on the door of my cottage. I reach for my watch, see the time, and go cold. This is not an hour when unexpected knocking means anything good.

Can’t fathom why whoever this is would knock, though. Not exactly a stealth assassin, whoever’s outside of my door.

I stumble out of bed, then remember that I'm only wearing my underwear and matching bralette. Not ideal. I seriously hope that I’m not about to engage in close-up combat wearing lace.

I feel around in the dark until I find the nearest item of clothing: a black button-up blouse I’d left on the back of a chair. No time to button it up, but it’s better than nothing, so I pull it on and reach for my pistol.

I drop low and steal along the wall until I’m close to the window. Obscured sightlines from here, and I can only make out a shadow -

“Molly?" a frantic voice calls from outside. "Are you in there?”

My eyes widen, and I rush to get my weapon back into the drawer of my night table. What the hell is Rose doing here at this hour, and why does she sound like that?

I race for the door, unlock it, and wrench it open.

Rose is standing there, shaking from head to toe. Sweaty and breathless like she just ran a marathon.

“Mol,” she begins in a wobbly voice, then stops, staring at me.

“Sorry, darling-” I gesture down at my outfit, or lack thereof. “I was asleep, I didn’t expect - my god, what happened to you?”

The longer I look at Rose’s expression, the more alarmed I am. Her eyes are startlingly wide. She’s deathly pale, even her fingers trembling. She’s in her pajamas, and her bare feet are caked with mud.

I gather Rose’s face into my hands, make her look into my eyes. The moment I do, she bursts into tears.

She flings herself into my arms, so forcefully that I stagger a step backwards. She buries her face into my neck, and I lock my arms around her, stroking her windswept hair.

"Rose, what happ-?"

“Lost one,” she gasps, her voice breaking.

“One what?” My heart drops even further. “Is Charlie-?”

“He’s fine,” Rose manages. “It was - I don’t know who, but I didn’t get there, I couldn’t get there-” She lets out a soft sob of frustration. “I can’t explain, I - I’m sorry, give me a minute, I’m - I’m fine...”

I can feel how tense Rose’s body is, can feel her struggling to gather herself back together, to push down what she’s feeling, hold back the tears.

I don’t understand why she’s always doing this. Trying to make herself so small that she's practically invisible. Even when she’s feeling like this. Even when she clearly wants to explode.

I have no idea what’s going on, but I ease Rose back and take her hand in mine. “Let’s go.”

She blinks at me, lost. “Go where?”

I step out onto the sand and silently lead her down the dark, abandoned beach, all the way to the water’s edge. Rose follows me, sniffling, her distress giving way to confusion.

“Oh - Mol, it’s gonna be so cold,” she stammers, when I step into the water.

I flinch at the icy splash against my bare feet, but I don’t care.

“Come on." I give her hand a tug. "You need this.”

Rose lets me walk her out into the freezing ocean until the sand disappears from beneath our feet, and we’re swimming.

“Ready?” I ask, shivering in the cold water.

“For what?” Rose asks, her teeth chattering.

“Take a deep breath.”

Rose does, closing her eyes, the waves kissing her neck.

“Scream,” I tell her, and gently pull her underwater, keeping her hand in mine.

The sea is bathed in moonlight, the water clear enough that I can see Rose. At first, she just holds her breath, her curls floating around her face.

Then she opens her mouth, and lets it out.

A storm of rage and grief and heartbreak that I can hear even with the ocean in my ears. Even with her voice muffled by the water. Bubbles burst from her mouth in a continuous stream until she’s all out of air.

We surface together. Rose takes in a gasping breath, then goes right back under to scream again.

I watch her, listen to her, keep hold of her.

She’s so exhausted by the time we step out of the water that I have to carry her back to my cottage. My fingers are numb with cold when we get there, my entire body covered in goosebumps.

But I can tell that Rose feels better, and that’s all that matters.

~~~~

A hot shower takes Rose the rest of the way back to calm. Or maybe she’s just too tired to cry anymore.

When I return from my shower I find her sitting in the wicker chair, wearing the pajamas I loaned her. Swaying with exhaustion.

“Get in the bed, darling,” I say softly. “It’s so late, you can't walk home.”

Rose looks up at me, watches me towel off my hair, then glances at the bed.

She gets up, takes a stumbling step towards it, and collapses into the blankets. I climb up to sit with her, lean my back against the headboard.

“These look nice on you,” I tell her, plucking at the silky hem of the pajama shorts.

Rose peeks up at me, a small, shy smile on her face.

“I should change back into my own. Yours are too pretty for me to wear.”

“No one’s ever designed clothes pretty enough to match that description.” I smile down at Rose, glad to see her feeling better. “You should keep them. I never wear pajamas, anyways. As you now know.”

Rose has been carefully keeping her eyes on my face, but now they briefly dart down to my body. She moves suddenly to flop onto her back, swallowing.

I adjust the strap of my bralette, then pull my tangled, wet hair over my shoulder. I drop to lay down next to Rose. I’ve left only my night table light on, and the soft lamplight paints her exhausted face, the tired bruises around her eyes. Her damp curls. Her scar.

“What happened, Rose?” I murmur, very quietly.

Deep silence reigns for a minute or two.

“It’s - a long story,” she finally says.

“Is there someone you want me to kill?” I ask. “Give me a name. I’ll make sure it hurts. Whoever finds their body won’t even bother to check for a pulse. They’ll be that kind of dead.”

Rose lets out a shocked laugh, swats at my arm. I quickly start laughing, too, so she doesn’t realize that I was being serious.

“No one did anyth- god, the things you say!” Rose turns onto her side again, holds me captive with those bright green eyes. “Really, I’m fine. I’m sorry that I showed up like this, I’m - I’m so embarrassed, you have no idea-”

I put a finger over her lips. “I want to hear fewer apologies from you, not more.”

Rose smiles. I feel the movement of her mouth against my fingertip.

“I’m so glad that you came to Port Sitka, Molly,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering closed. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

I’m glad she’s not looking at me, not seeing how I’m smiling.

“Really, love?”

“Mhm. And even if you didn’t… I could listen to you all night. That works, too.”

I don’t know what this means, and Rose doesn’t elaborate.

She falls asleep shortly after, one wet strand of hair stuck to her cheek. I lay awake for hours, watching her, lost in my thoughts.

The Rose here with me right now is the true, authentic Rose. After what happened tonight, nothing that Mags or anybody else could say to me would change my mind about that.

This is who she’s been with me all along. In her vulnerable, terrified state, she was still that same person - which means that this whole time, she hasn’t been wearing any disguises.

So... Rose is not undercover. Possibly not even an agent. If she’s not that, then… who is she?

I finally break down and smooth that curl off of her cheek.

Why won’t you come away with me? I ask silently. Let’s get out of here, leave all this behind us.

Again, I’ve shocked myself. I’m getting ambushed by thoughts like this all the time, recently.

I turn my back on Rose, reminding myself who I am.

Asking myself when exactly I lost my grip on reality.